


Broken Pain

by holmesintardis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Serial Killer John, Sherlock's dead, Smut, Violence, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesintardis/pseuds/holmesintardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had jumped, John had cracked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my friend Becca. Hope you like babe :)

Sherlock had jumped, John had cracked. He tried, he really had, to keep going without Sherlock, but he couldn't. Not that anyone could tell. John was always present and attentive when he attended anything outside of his flat. Everyone, even Mycroft, thought that the ex-army doctor was coping spectacularly. But they were wrong. It was a show, a charade, something which Sherlock would have been proud of had he been there. In reality, John was in so much pain he did not know what to do any more. He hardly slept, he barely ate and he spent all of his time focusing on the hurting, thinking of everything he never got to tell the detective. Only once had John visited the grave-site of his former hero, Sherlock wouldn't have approved of more than one visit, would have said it was irrational. So, John suppressed his feelings, making sure to come off composed, like he had dealt with the fall, the way he thought Sherlock would have praised him for. And somehow, that all led to John standing outside of the small house on a side-street of London, wearing old jeans, a grimy turtle neck, purple surgical gloves and a backpack.

John had been scouting this house for weeks. The resident, a lone female college grad student, was obviously head of her class, with a promising career in law ahead of her. And that pissed John off more than he could say. She was always smiling, what had given her the right to be so happy when people like him had to suffer in silent sorrow? But he, unlike most in his position, had the tools to do something about it. Silently, the former soldier picked the lock of the back door and slid into the house. He had every detail of his assault planned out, just like the others. The bedroom floor and walls were left bare, save for the two pieces of plastic on either side of the bed. He coated the bed in plastic, leaving only the head and foot boards bare for the ropes that would be tied there. Once the setup was complete, John donned his lab coat and waited in the shadows for his victim to return.

Alone, on the lamp-lit London Street, a young woman was walking home. Her long red hair was flowing unrestricted down her back, heels clicking as she continued her brisk pace, eager to get off the streets which became dangerous after dark. On this night however, she would have been safer out on the jungles of pavement. She ascended the front steps quickly, sliding her key into the lock at 11:05 pm, just like every other night. The door swung open before her, and she entered, eager to leave outside London behind her, and lock the door. Her long hair fell in her face as she leaned down to slide off her heels before making her way to the bedroom to get changed. Her fingers were on the light switch when she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist and strange smelling cloth was pressed to her face. She tried desperately to scream before the world went black.

John had made quick work of stripping his victim, tying and gaging her. Now he stood, arms folded, at the foot of the bad waiting for her to awake. He didn't have to wait long, within a few minutes her eyelids began to flutter, and eventually opened, big hazel orbs taking in her surroundings and finally landing, fear filled, on the attacker. John smiled as the woman, began to struggle frantically against the bonds, and unfolded his arms to reveal the scalpel he was holding. When the woman saw the glinting object she tried to scream against the gag, without use, as John leaned over her naked struggling figure, preparing to make his first incision.

The doctor began as he always did, outlining the muscular structures on the stomach, moving slowly and talking softly to his victim.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" He asked, quietly, glancing up briefly to see her shake her head, "Because you are too perfect. Happy. You have no idea what the world is like, and you are going to be living in it. I am just doing you a favor." He stood back to inspect his work, nodding in approval. He moved down to the foot of the bed, taking her left leg, and, beginning at the ankle, made small horizontal cuts, exactly two inches long, and half an inch apart. He began to speak again when he reached the knee.

"I try so hard, you know, and I have nothing to show but tears. But you," His head jerked up to glare at her, "You don't do anything and the world is at your feet." He made a final violent stroke at the top of her thigh and grabbed her other leg, beginning the same pattern. "You have no idea what pain is. A broken leg is not pain. _This_ is not pain. Pain eats away at you until there is nothing left. You have to learn to slow it down. With this. You are helping me by doing this." He had finished with the legs and was now kneeling between them, fondling the scalpel with a purple-gloved hand as he gazed down at the bound figure.

She had given up the struggle when he was halfway up the right leg, earlier than his other victims. He wanted her to writhe beneath him, to feel the power of it. With one quick movement he slid the scalpel into her vagina, gaging the reaction on her face carefully. When it met his approval he grinned, and slowly began to slide it up, cutting through her flesh.

"Shhh, shhh, it will hurt less if you stay still." He leaned over, placing a gloved finger on her lips as the instrument finished its path, emerging through the curly hair. He moved his scalpel arm up to outline her breasts and nipples, free hand still held to her lips. He then moved up to draw the blade along her collar bone, and then to her arms, where he began to make the same pattern as on her legs.

"See? Isn't this better?" John had removed his fingers from her lips, holding her hand still and he carved along the lines on her palm and fingers. "I may be a killer, but I do not lie. Alright, sweet?" He moved onto her other hand, finishing quickly. Standing once again beside the bed, he lent over pulling the blade over her hairline, outlining her eyes, nose and lips and ears. Her skin had paled dramatically and her breathing was shallower. John smiled, it was time. He climbed on top of her, sitting on her abdomen, knees beside her breasts.

"Open your eyes, sweet." He murmured soothingly. He watched as the hazel orbs opened. "Look at me." He commanded, with just as much gentleness. Her eyes wondered for half a second more before focusing on his face. John smiled gently, leaned over and placed the scalpel at the base of her ear. Being careful to make the cut dramatically deeper than the rest, he flicked the blade across her neck, severing both arteries. He sat back on her stomach for a moment, watching her bleed out the rest of her life before cleaning his mess.

John took the plastic sheets, folding them so no blood escaped, peeled off his gloved and lab coat, placing all of the items, along with the scalpel, in a garbage bag and setting it in his backpack. Tomorrow, he would seal the bag in concrete like all the others. He arranged the body on the bed, and once satisfied with his work, left for home.

It was three days before the body was discovered, Lestrade calling John with frantic news that a thirteenth body had been discovered. The DI was growing more and more frustrated with the newest threat to London, which John couldn't help but be a proud of. But this time was different. Lestrade called with the news, there was something else.

"We got a positive set of finger prints this time. Only one set other than the victim's. Looks like he got careless this time," the Inspector was ecstatic. John tried to match his enthusiasm, while mentally running through the events three nights prior. It dawned on him just as the policeman hung up the phone, he has removed his gloved before he arranged the body. The doctor slammed his forehead into the wall, it was all over. At least he would be joining Sherlock before the day was over.

John reported to the crime scene as asked, and listened to Sally ramble on about the breakthrough of the fingerprints. His mind was running through the best scenarios for killing himself when he got home while he matched the outward energy and helped inspect the scene and body.

"Same precision as the last. Same everything, except this," John pointed to the cut he had made through the woman's vagina. Lestrade made a disgusted face and nodded, taking a note and instructing the photographer to capture it. John stood up and smiled, looking to the DI for permission to leave. Lestrade gave him a short nod, and informing the doctor that they would be in touch soon.

John decided to use his gun. He made the decision on the front stoop of the flat, sliding his key on the lock and opening the door. A few minutes later he stood in the living room, gun in his mouth, visualising the SWAT team entering the flat to find his lifeless body.

"Why did you do it?" A deep voice asked softly from the shadows of the kitchen. John's eyes flew open and he turned to find a tall silhouette leaning in the corner next to the oven.

"She-Sherlock?" John stammered, gun falling to the floor and knees going weak. Sherlock stepped from the shadows, eyes filled with concern. "I-I'm sorry," John felt his eyes fill with tears.

Sherlock crossed the room quickly, capturing John in his arms as the smaller man collapsed. Sherlock pressed john to his chest and burring his face in the short, sandy hair.

"I should be apologising John. I'm sorry. I took care of it. It's alright. I'm back, John," Sherlock cupped his face in both hands so that John had to look him in the eyes, "I'm here John, and I won't go away this time, I promise." And with that he kissed his blogger.

John had been dreaming of that kiss from the moment he met the genius, and now that he had the chance he took it gripping Sherlock's shirt and pouring his soul into the kiss, feeling the brunette's arms tighten around him, and John let himself be swept away.

Lestrade called three days later to announce that they had a positive ID on the prints, a suspected drug dealer they had been trying to pin for years. John let out a sigh as he put the phone down and looked across the living room at a beaming consulting-detective. John smiled, and walked over to the other man, settling into his lap and pulling him in for a kiss. Sherlock's hands settled on John's hips, rubbing small circles as the blonde unbuttoned his shirt. The taller man's hands began working on John's shirt as his blogger attacked his neck, and worked on his trousers. John stood as soon as Sherlock threw his shirt across the room, undoing his belt and kicking off his shoes.

"John," Sherlock panted, the doctor looked up sharply, concern in his eyes. Sherlock raised a hand as the other man blushed and began to redo the belt. "No. No John, I want this, just," the detective sucked in his breath, "promise me you'll never do it again. Kill." John grinned and let his trousers and pants fall to the floor.

"I promise." He knelt between Sherlock's knees, lifting his hips to pull the restricting fabric off and let his erection free. The taller man gasped as John licked at the slit, which was already drooling pre-cum. The shorter man grinned, and took the whole length in his mouth, eyes flicking up to Sherlock's face. The brunette gripped John's hair, pulling as the doctor bobbed his head at a ruthless pace.

Sherlock came almost too quickly, but his blogger smiled, crawling up so that Sherlock could lick himself from the shorter man's mouth. Sherlock smiled into the kiss and wrapped a fist around John, causing the other man to gasp and pull back, winding his hands into dark curls as he took in the devilish gleam in the other's eye. Sherlock stroked him hard and fast, never breaking eye contact until John threw his head into the crook of the taller man's neck and came with a cry of his name.

Sherlock smiled, twisting to kiss his blogger on the head and murmur soothingly into his scalp. John made a small contented noise and nuzzled into the genius's neck, breath slowing. Sherlock smiled sleepily and, arms wrapped around John, followed him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Got prompts? Shoot me a message. superherosinthetardis.tumblr.com


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